


lay your words on the table

by anisstaranise



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, First Kiss, Grief/Mourning, Love Confessions, M/M, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:07:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23201416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anisstaranise/pseuds/anisstaranise
Summary: Bucky finds Steve after Sarah Rogers' funeral and a heartfelt conversation at the kitchen table follows.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 13
Kudos: 46





	lay your words on the table

**Author's Note:**

> My first attempt at writing stevebucky.
> 
> Inspired by that gorgeous Fleabag/Boo scene from Fleabag 2x04.

The door closes with a shush, snug in its door frame, like it too is mourning the loss of Sarah Rogers.

He sees Steve reach to place the house key on the kitchen table, a wobbly battered thing only big enough for two yet it has witnessed countless memories. Of birthdays and Christmas dinners. Of becoming a makeshift nurse's station when Steve comes home, bloody and beaten- but never broken. 

The key clatters, deafening in the heavy silence. The sound seems wrong, too loud and harsh when their world is in a state of vigil.

But then, another sound shatters the silence, too. Loud and harsh- and heartbreaking.

Steve is sobbing.

Every instinct in his body- to protect, to comfort, to love his best friend, moves on its own volition, arms stretched and ready to hold.

Engulfed in his embrace, Steve turns slowly, burrowing into his chest. A patch of his shirt, the finest he owns- only the best for Sarah Rogers- is soaked through with tears in moments.

Steve hadn't cried when his mother passed. Not when they lowered her casket, the finest they could afford with all their resources combined; only the best for Sarah. 

Not when he found Steve sitting on the steps of their tenement.

Not when he'd said, with all the determination and stubbornness of one Steve Rogers; "I can make it by on my own."

But here in the Rogers' family home, in the circle of his arms, Steve cries. And cries. 

And cries.

Long moments pass. The wrecking sobs slowing into mournful hiccups. 

"It's not that she died-" Steve says into his chest, words muffled slightly by the fabric of his shirt, his skin.

"What?"

"I'm not crying because ma died," his best friend breathes as he peels away lazily from his arms.

"Steve, you're allowed to cry-"

Steve shakes his head, that stubborn gait etched in every move.

"She's not suffering anymore. She's next to dad," Steve states, his face tinted with the colour of his grief. Cheeks glistening with tears.

Even blotchy and red, he can't help but wonder just how beautiful Steve Rogers truly is.

He clears his throat absently. It seems wrong to have such thoughts. The time. The place.

The chair screeches against the floor when Steve drags it out. He slumps heavily into the seat, elbow resting on the table as he cradles his chin in his hand.

In the silence that follows, he allows himself to stare at his best friend. A little longer. He's always selfish like that when it comes to Steve.

After a moment, he takes the only other seat at the table. The way he'd done countless of times before. It's something he's sure he'd be doing countless more times in the future; he sees forever at this table, with Steve. Always.

"This pain I feel-" Steve says, wet blue eyes boring into his. "- it's not that she died. It's-"

Steve pauses. And he watches the way his best friend's brows furrow as he searches for the words.

"It's that, I have all this love, all my love for her, and I don't know where to put it anymore," Steve explains, voice laden with sorrow.

His heart races a pace faster. Without hesitation, he reaches out a hand and takes Steve's in his.

"Then give it to me."

Steve huffs a laugh, gripping their hands tighter together. 

"C'mon, Buck."

"I'm not kidding. All that love you have for Sarah, it has to go somewhere," he says. "So, give it to me. Let me have it."

_Love me._

It seems wrong- the time, the place- to say all this. Here, now.

But he's always selfish like that.

Steve stares at him, wet blue eyes twinkling and kind as ever.

That heavy silence returns. The sound of the world moving on wafts through the one opened window in the living room. And Steve just- stares.

A moment passes. Then two.

Then countless more, sluggish in its movement in that heavy silence.

"I love you plenty, Buck," Steve finally says.

It's his turn to huff a laugh, his thumb stroking absently over the scarred knuckles of Steve's hand.

"Okay."

"No, Bucky, what I mean is-" Steve exclaims, clasping his other hand over their joined ones. "- I don't think I can love you more than I already do."

There's a catch of breath somewhere deep in his chest. It sinks in, the gravity of the words.

All those times loving Steve in silence; Steve loves him too.

In a swift move, he stretches across the table only big enough for two and finds Steve's lips with his.

To kiss his pain away. To vow _you're never on your own_. To etch his love, skin on skin. 

It seems wrong- the time, the place. But he kisses Steve anyway. He's always been selfish like that.

-end-

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.  
> Comments greatly appreciated.
> 
> Shout out to **define_serenity** for the quick beta and endless encouragement.
> 
> And my love, **JustAPassingGlance** for being the best cheerleader and enabler.


End file.
